


All Yours

by herinfiniteeyes



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Felching, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herinfiniteeyes/pseuds/herinfiniteeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clint follows Phil around like a horny puppy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [photoclerk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/photoclerk/gifts).



> I wrote this for photoclerk cuz she was having a bad day like, a week ago, and I hoped this would cheer her up. Well...better late than never, right? :-/
> 
> This work is unbeta'd. Sorry. All mistakes are mine.

It wasn’t like weekends actually existed at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, but the place was usually pretty quiet (with the exception of all-hands-on-deck type emergencies). For the past month or so, Clint found he preferred coming in on the weekends to do his paperwork like a good little Avenger because there were less people to distract himself with through conversation. 

Another benefit of coming in on the weekend was using Coulson’s office, because as much as Clint liked to tease Coulson about being a workaholic, the man usually took weekends off. That suited Clint, because Coulson’s office chair was state of the art, a masterpiece of comfort and ergonomic practicality (never let it be said Coulson wasn’t “practical,” after all), and he had one of those super fancy coffee machines with the coffee that practically made itself. 

Well, and if Clint found a familiar comfort in using Coulson’s chair and drinking Coulson’s coffee, that was nobody’s business but his own. 

Clint had never been interrupted here, and that made the paperwork process go by a lot faster than if he tried filling it out back at the Avengers’ Mansion. Inevitably, Thor would come demand a drinking buddy, or Stark would talk his ear off about the perfection of Cap’s ass, or Natasha would persuade him to let her kick his ass in the sparring room. No thanks. 

So here he was, kicked back and comfortable, humming under his breath, when the lock on the door disengaged and the knob began to turn. Clint reached for the knife at his side, but relaxed when Coulson’s form filled the doorway. 

Coulson stared at Clint, Clint stared at Coulson, and neither moved at first.

Well, this was awkward. 

“Hello, Agent Barton,” Coulson said. His tone was calm and flat, as usual. 

Clint wanted to say something, he really did, but his attention was entirely focused on what Coulson was wearing, because holy shit. If Coulson looked amazing in a suit, it was nothing compared to how hot he looked in jeans and a black cashmere v-neck sweater that looked incredibly soft, practically inviting Clint to touch it. 

“Uh,” Clint quickly cleared his throat, “hey.” Shit, he sounded like a dazed idiot. Coulson wasn’t supposed to know Clint came here on the weekends, dammit. Nobody knew. 

Coulson didn’t say anything, merely walked over to the desk where Clint currently sat, prepared to bolt at any second in case Coulson tried to gut him with a Bic pen for invading his space. His spine was stiff and straight when Coulson reached around him to unlock the wide drawer in the middle of the desk. Clint wondered if that’s where he stashed weapons in the event of an alien office invasion, because Coulson was nothing if not prepared for any eventuality, but the drawer opened to reveal nothing more intimidating than a paperclip stash and another set of keys. 

Clint registered the heat of Coulson’s arm pressed against his shoulder and a scent, something warm and spicy, when Coulson bent down to grab the keys from the drawer. Clint turned his head ever so slightly for a sneaky inhale of Coulson’s cologne. He was glued to the chair, his hands gripping the arm rests as Coulson’s chest briefly pressed against his back. So many muscles. So many hidden muscles. 

It really shouldn’t surprise him that Coulson was in great shape, but somehow it just never really registered. Sure, he looked reassuringly solid in his suits, but when you were used to seeing guys like Steve in tight clothes, it was easy to forget that not everyone who had muscles showed them off. Clint was wearing a sleeveless shirt, himself. He wasn’t shy about showing off. 

Clint waited to speak until Coulson was at the steel gray filing cabinet in the corner next to the fake ficus plant Clint gave him last winter, decorated for Christmas. The ornaments, including the little gold Cupid that someone had added after Clint snuck the plant into Coulson’s office, were still on it. “Got a hot date?” he joked.

Coulson pulled some files and locked the drawer again before answering. “Something like that,” he said with something like amusement in his eyes.

Clint hid his automatic frown. He was probably just going home to do paperwork. He’d never known Coulson to get involved with anyone romantically. 

Still, he wondered. 

Coulson dropped the keys back in the drawer and shut it gently before locking it. His forearm brushed Clint’s bare shoulder and Clint had to suppress a shudder. Coulson’s sweater was just as soft as it looked, and Clint had to try very hard not to imagine that sweater brushing his lower back as Coulson fucked him over the desk.

“Well, that’s all I needed. Have a good weekend, Agent,” Coulson said as he walked toward the door. 

Clint blinked as if he’d been underwater. “Wait, aren’t you gonna try to kick me out of your office?” he asked. 

Coulson’s smirk was smug. “Barton, you’ve been in here every weekend for the past six weeks. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Clint started to say something, but Coulson held up a finger. “Furthermore, if I were bothered by it, do you honestly think that I couldn’t keep you out of here?”  
Well, there wasn’t much that he could say to that. 

“O-kay,” he said, still surprised. “Um.” 

Coulson turned back to walk through the door, one hand raised in farewell. 

Clint spared a moment to look at his paperwork, still unfinished, before deciding it was time to knock off for the night. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, but surely he could find something more entertaining to occupy himself on a Saturday night. 

It was this line of thought that resulted in him following Coulson as covertly as possible. 

 

After dropping off the files at home, Coulson caught a cab that took him to a club on the outskirts of the city. Clint quickly paid his own cab driver a block down from the club’s entrance and hid in a dark alley until Coulson disappeared inside the club. 

Clint followed him in after a few minutes, careful to stay out of sight. He disappeared into one of the shadowed corners as Phil ordered a beer from the bar and turned to scan the club’s dance floor. It was hotter than hell with all the body heat coming off the dancers. Coulson should have looked out of place, but somehow, he fit right in. 

A short, stocky guy with blond hair and a tight white muscle t approached Coulson with a flirtatious smile. He couldn’t be more than twenty, maybe twenty-two at most. Clint watched, fully expecting Coulson to turn him away, but he didn’t. Instead, Coulson returned the kid’s smile, wrapped an arm around his waist, and pulled him in to say something in his ear. The kid pulled back, his smile impossibly wider now, and pushed his hands up under the hem of Coulson’s sweater. 

If he thought witnessing Coulson willingly entering a gay club blew his mind, nothing could compare to the amazement of seeing some fucking twink stripping off Coulson’s sweater to reveal a tight black t-shirt while Coulson smiled indulgently. The kid tucked the sweater into one of Coulson’s back pockets and ran his hands up Coulson’s exposed forearms. 

Even from the corner, Clint could see why the kid was practically drooling over Coulson in that shirt. Coulson’s arms were defined, the short sleeves snug around his biceps. Clint wanted to hit something when the kid plastered himself against Coulson, practically throwing himself at him. Coulson obligingly bent his head to listen to whatever the kid was whispering (well, probably yelling, seeing as how the club was packed and the music was almost loud enough to cause hearing loss, but whatever) and they stayed like that long enough for Clint to wonder if the kid was telling Coulson his freaking life story or something. 

He wasn’t jealous. He had nothing to be jealous of. Coulson was clearly just humoring the kid. Really. The kid was shameless.

Clint kept telling himself that until he watched Shameless lead Coulson to the dance floor. His jaw dropped when Coulson pulled him close, and Shameless began to grind his stupid bubble butt back against Coulson’s crotch. Clint didn’t know how much more of this he could stand. If he were Bruce, he’d be bright green and smashing shit right now. 

That’s when Coulson reached down and pulled the kid’s shirt off. Shameless laughed and rested his head against Coulson’s shoulder while Coulson ran his hands up and down the kid’s chest. Coulson displayed some of his legendary ability to multitask as he used one hand to flick Shameless’ nipple, and one hand on his jaw to turn his head for a kiss. 

Clint’s hands became fists as the kiss went on and on, getting filthier and wetter as the seconds crawled by. He must have made a noise, because the couple at a table nearby broke off their own make out session to look at Clint in surprise. “Oh, mind your own fucking business!” he growled at them. The two guys quickly looked away, and Clint’s glare snapped back to the dance floor. 

The kid reached down to stroke Coulson’s dick through his jeans, and that was it. Clint’s temper snapped. 

He pushed his way through the crowd until he reached them. Shameless looked wary, but Coulson’s expression was flat and calm, as usual. Clint yanked the kid away from Coulson and gave him the most threatening look he could muster. “Go find someone else to play with, kid,” Clint ordered. “And don’t fucking come back.” 

Shameless scurried to obey. “Sorry! Jesus!” he said before he disappeared. 

Clint felt a hand grip his arm, and he spun around to see Coulson looking angry. “Exactly what was that?” Coulson asked. 

Clint’s anger deflated a bit, and his shoulders drooped. “I dunno,” he hedged. 

Coulson shook his head and let go of Clint’s arm. “I don’t even want to know, do I?” he said wearily. 

Finally admitting to the jealousy he’d been feeling, Clint decided to make a move of his own. He grabbed a handful of Coulson’s shirt and tugged him close, giving Coulson only the barest second to resist. When he didn’t, Clint licked his way into Coulson’s mouth and set about trying to eradicate any traces of the stupid kid who thought he could pull Phil fucking Coulson. No way in hell, Clint swore silently. 

Coulson started kissing him back, all wet lips and tiny nips at Clint’s mouth. He felt his entire body shudder when Coulson’s hands landed on his ass, pulling him in tight so he could push his thigh between Clint’s legs. 

“Fuck, Coulson,” Clint gasped as he felt himself getting hard. 

Coulson pulled away and leaned in to bite Clint’s earlobe. “You’re grinding your dick on my leg, Clint. I think you can call me Phil.” 

“Okay,” he said. 

Clint shivered and gripped Phil’s biceps as he leaned back in for another kiss, but Phil pulled back. 

“What?” he asked, suddenly afraid that Phil was going to reject him and go find the kid instead. 

“Come on,” Phil said. He grabbed Clint’s hand and dragged him toward a dark hallway. When he spotted a line, he realized where they were headed. 

Phil walked past most of the guys waiting for the bathroom, but stopped when one guy loudly complained about them jumping the line. Clint was in too much of a daze to say anything, but the look Phil shot the guy was cold enough to give the frost giants a run for their money. The guy stepped back, his hands up in a placating gesture. “Dude, whatever,” he grumbled. 

The bathroom door opened, and Phil ushered Clint inside. There was more complaining from the people in line, but they were ignored. Clint stared at himself in the mirror and Phil locked the deadbolt. “Um.” He sounded like an idiot, but who could blame him when all the blood in his body seemed to be pulsing in his dick right now. 

Phil approached him from behind and raised an eyebrow at their reflection. “Hands on the sink, Barton.” His voice was firm, and his stance told Clint all he needed to know. He stepped up to the sink and gripped the sides, and Phil pressed up against him. Clint felt Phil’s erection against his ass and moaned. Phil’s smile was a mix of predatory and smug as he yanked on a handful of Clint’s hair. Clint moaned and let his head drop to the side.

Phil chuckled darkly. “You want me to fuck you?”

Clint licked his lips and let his eyes fall shut while Phil ran sucking kisses up the side of his neck. “Yessir,” he mumbled. 

Phil laughed again. “Oh, I like that, agent.” 

Clint pushed back against him, urging Phil to hurry up. “Come on,” he begged. 

He bit his lip as Phil’s hands worked to open his zipper. He was so hard already, and Phil had barely touched him. Phil shoved Clint’s jeans down to his knees and backed away just enough to palm Clint’s ass. 

“I’m going to fuck you over this sink, agent. But first …” The cold air in the bathroom whispered against Clint’s lower back as Phil pushed his shirt up and off before dropping to his knees behind Clint. Goosebumps rose on his skin when he felt Phil’s hot breath against his ass. 

Clint wasn’t quite prepared when Phil parted his cheeks and ran his tongue over him, getting Clint’s hole nice and wet. Clint whimpered, helplessly arching back against him, hoping to get more of Phil’s mouth on his ass. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

Getting rimmed always inevitably led to Clint begging to be held down and fucked like a greedy slut, but Phil couldn’t have known that. 

Over his own harsh breathing, he could hear Phil pulling something out of his pocket. Phil used one hand to hold Clint open while he pressed his tongue flat against Clint’s hole and fluttered. Clint bit the inside of his cheek and choked off another moan. He was trying very hard to remember there was a line of dudes who had to pee, just outside the door. 

“Don’t think about it,” Phil said, as if he were psychic … which he probably was, the bastard. 

Clint’s eyes were shut tight when he felt two slick fingers pressing against his entrance. The stretch burned, but soon Phil’s tongue was sliding between his own fingers, and Clint’s knees almost buckled. “Oh shit,” he gasped. 

Phil’s laugh was nothing more than a hot puff of air between his ass cheeks. Clint shivered and bent down over the sink, hoping to hurry things along. “I’m ready, I’m ready, just do it already,” he said. 

Phil kept his fingers buried inside Clint as he stood up and pulled down his own zipper. His hearing was sharp enough to hear Phil slicking up his dick before the blunt head pushed against his hole. “Yeah, fuck yeah, just like that,” Clint begged. He tried to push back and take more of Phil’s cock, but Phil had a vice grip on his hips, so he just had to take it however Phil wanted to give it to him. 

“You know, I can’t believe you followed me here,” Phil mused as his hips came to rest against Clint’s ass. He ran a soothing hand up Clint’s side and Clint had to bite his own fist to keep from crying out at how amazing it felt to have Phil Coulson fucking him in the dirty bathroom at a bar. 

The voices outside were nothing but background noise to him now. His entire focus was on the cock in his ass, the hands on his hips, and the teeth biting his ear. He couldn’t say anything, even if he wanted to. 

“It’s funny. If I had known this is all it took to silence you, I’d have bent you over my desk ages ago,” Phil said. Clint whimpered and tried to spread his legs wider to get Phil’s dick deeper. He was reduced to his basic need to get dominated and fucked, and Phil was carrying out the job like he did everything … perfectly. 

Clint was close to coming. Phil’s thrusts were gaining speed and precision, and Clint could already feel the bruises that would be on his hipbones tomorrow morning. He clenched his eyes shut, focusing on the tingling sensation in his spine. Almost, almost…

A particularly hard thrust made Clint wince, and Phil immediately froze, observant even in the middle of fucking the hell out of someone. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly.

Clint met his eyes in the mirror. “Yeah, it’s just the sink. Hurts,” he mumbled. 

Phil pulled him up and spun him around to press his hands against the cold tile wall next to the sink. Clint shivered, but the chill faded quickly as Phil gripped his ass and spread him apart again. “Better?” he asked. Clint nodded gratefully and Phil leaned in to kiss the base of his neck as he pushed against Clint’s slick hole with the head of his dick. “Good.” 

He started fucking Clint against the wall while he bit and sucked a bruise on Clint’s shoulder. Clint laughed and gasped. “Are you marking your territory or something?” he joked. 

Phil’s voice rumbled against his skin. Clint reached back and buried his hand in Phil’s short hair. “I’m not complaining, mind you,” he clarified, “but I’m yours.”

Phil sucked in a shocked breath and buried his face in Clint’s neck. “I’m not wearing a condom,” he said with surprise, as if he’d just realized it now. It wasn’t like Phil to forget something like that. “I should –“ He started to pull away, but Clint tightened his hand in Phil’s hair and turned his head to nip at Phil’s jaw. 

“Holy shit,” Clint moaned, his dick jerking and shooting come on the wall in thick spurts. 

Phil’s eyes slammed closed and a shudder wracked his body. Clint felt Phil’s cock jerk inside him, filling his ass in a way Clint had never experienced before. 

Phil’s knees locked, and it was the only thing preventing them from falling to the filthy bathroom floor. Clint’s ears buzzed in the aftermath of his orgasm, while Phil’s breath was hot and moist against the marks on Clint’s shoulder. His hands tingled where they were pressed against the wall, but he wasn’t ready to move yet. 

“I’m sorry,” Phil mumbled. “I should have remembered a condom.” 

Clint, his hand still wrapped in Phil’s hair, yanked him forward for a wet kiss that was all tongues and teeth. “Don’t be,” he said against Phil’s mouth. “We’re both clean, you know that.” 

Phil groaned and pulled away, his gaze on the ground as he gently unlocked Clint’s arms and legs from his body. “Still, it was irresponsible. I can’t believe I did that to you.”

Clint stood on shaky legs and bent down to grab his shirt. “Shut it, Phil, or you’re gonna harsh my mellow. That was my first time barebacking. Don’t ruin it,” 

Phil was pulling paper towels from the dispenser, but Clint pulled his shirt on and reached out to draw him back against him. “I’m a mess, and it’s all your fault,” he said against Phil’s kiss-swollen lips. “You gonna help me clean up, or will I have to walk out of here with your come dripping from my ass?” He bit Phil’s bottom lip and smiled filthily at him with a challenge in his eyes. 

Phil moaned and reached down to run his fingers between Clint’s ass cheeks. “Mmm, I think I can help you with that,” he said. Phil dropped to his knees again, this time with Clint facing him. He brought up Clint’s left leg to drape it over his shoulder and leaned in. His hot breath gusted across Clint’s wet hole, and Clint dropped his head back against the wall. “Do it,” he said. “Please.” 

His eyes shut in bliss as Phil ate him out. Someone was banging on the door, but neither of them seemed to care, because Phil’s tongue was buried in Clint’s ass, and Clint was enjoying every second of it. 

“God, you taste so good,” Phil moaned. He leaned back to bite the sensitive skin close to Clint’s abused hole, and Clint keened. “I could do this every day,” Phil said. 

“Yeah,” Clint gasped. 

“Fuck you in my bed every night, eat my come out of your ass every morning,” he continued. 

“Jesus Christ,” Clint moaned. 

“But maybe I should let you go to work, spend all day in the range with my come sliding down your thighs beneath that fucking uniform,” Phil growled between long, wet swipes of his tongue. 

Clint bit his lip until it bled, his throat raw from holding back. 

“You love this, don’t you, Hawkeye?”

“Clint, Clint, call me Clint,” he begged. 

“Clint.” 

He felt his balls tighten, and a weak spurt of come dribbled out and down the head of his dick. “Phil, you are one dirty motherfucker,” he grunted after he caught his breath again. 

Phil hummed a laugh and sat back on his heels. “You love it,” he said with confidence. 

“Well, yeah,” Clint said. Obviously. 

The noise outside the door was gaining in volume, so Phil stood, pulling Clint’s pants up and zipping them for him. He then buttoned his own pants and went to the sink to rinse his mouth out with water. Clint brushed a hand through his own hair and then walked over to help Phil straighten his. 

It didn’t help much, because they both walked out of the bathroom looking freshly fucked. The bouncer from the front door was walking through the crowd with the angry dude from earlier, but Phil’s expression was anything but guilty. He grabbed Clint’s hand and led him right past the bouncer, ignoring the angry guy’s cries of “That’s them! You assholes!” 

Clint grinned and shrugged. “Sorry, man,” he said unrepentantly. Phil pulled him to the exit and they walked under the streetlight to look for a cab. “What now?” Clint asked. 

Phil grinned and pulled their joined hands up to nip at Clint’s knuckles. “Whatever you want,” Phil said. “I’m all yours.”


End file.
